


Of the Things I Said, and Those I Couldn't

by CopicsForNameless



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo Baggins Dies, Death, Everybody Dies, Other, Thorin Oakenshield Dies, sand ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:41:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopicsForNameless/pseuds/CopicsForNameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps this isn't so bad, so if I take solace in the knowledge that things could have been worse... Please do not think illy of me. I don't think I could live with that right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of the Things I Said, and Those I Couldn't

**Author's Note:**

> honestly this is not a happy story you have been warned
> 
> It's a story I wrote originally as an ending to a series I'm writing. Though in the end the tone didn't fit as I thought it would but I still liked this so I felt I shouldn't scrap it. It's technically in a modern setting but I made very little mention of that purposely so a reader could ignore that.

Armageddon. With all the romance of a five hundred page manual. This? This suffocating heat, and heavy silence; is not romantic. There isn’t an author left alive who could make this romantic. Not even me; and I consider myself a rightfully good one! No you see, I have had romance. I’ve lived through the unbelievable highs and painful lows. I’ve weaved my way in and out of your life like I’ve always had the right to be in it. And this? This doesn’t even come close to resembling romance.

At least you’re here. Though thinking so makes me a terrible creature indeed.

 It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Cliché apothegm I know, but you’ll have to forgive me for my over worked sayings. I am having a bit of trouble separating myself from my work right now. Certain death looming over someone’s head will tend to do that to an author. But Heavens! By all rights we should be huddled together in a shelter with our friends and family. Not out here gasping for breath.  

My nephew had even bought me a ticket into a shelter. But since there was no room for you, I turned it away. I passed on my ticket to a stranger; with a pat on the arm, and a chipper 'good day' to convey to my family. This is entirely my fault and by no means anyone else’s. I only have myself to blame. I thought To keep you to myself this time, and hadn’t told them about you yet. I did plan to- of course, but there isn’t much weight in would haves or may ofs. Needless to say there was no ticket for you to have. And I would have none without you.

I suppose you’d be cross with me. Though you'll never know I had a way out, what's one last secret between us? Everyone keeps their half truths after all, and you’ll have to forgive me for keeping mine.

you’ll have to forgive me for a lot of things. 

I can honestly say I’ve had the time to reflect on my life, and a great deal of it was not for the better. I've begun to think that all this is some sort of punishment. After all; I have, as you mostly know, made some questionable decisions in my life. 

All the same my family had the means to save us both, but because I thought to hoard you to myself; here we are. One would think that with my background, I would know the dangers of hoarded treasures. 

Not that you are –a treasure that is- well! I do treasure you. but you are so much more then that. (For a writer I am woefully terrible with this.) our moments- I meant our moments. Those are shimmering little treasures in their own rights. 

We’ve danced around each other so long- and I'm just so dreadfully tired. Not of you –never of you.- 

“What I’m trying to say is-“

“And failing miserably at.” 

“Yes, Thorin, thank you. And failing miserably at- is that in the light of all our many hardships.. This- this really isn’t so bad. I’ve had long, long lives without you, and those are always the ones I would trade for something similar to this. It's almost nice, sitting here with you. Well- the sitting with you part, not so much this particular situation.” A comforting sort of silence seemed to stretch on then. Which is so different from the eerie silence we had so rudely broken. “And I think, that if we just close our eyes we might fool ourselves that we are back in bag end, just enjoying the quiet night.”

“…That, was perhaps a little romantic”

“Perhaps a little.” And I would close my eyes, imagine all that I had once longed for what seems like forever ago. Us, in bag end, or Erebor, or really anywhere at all. So long as for once, just once we may actually enjoy some peace together. But I am far to afraid of those deafening little silences between our words. As if in the span of those moments some unseen foe may just whisk you away, as so many other things have. I have learned from experience how terribly empty bag end is without you. So Instead I keep my eyes trained on you and in doing so, I am rewarded with your world famous half, and almost there, smiles. Which in a night (or day- the clouds are far to thick to actually tell.) like this one is a victory all in itself.

“A tad cheesy too.”

“Hush now Thorin, as if you are one to talk.” you chuckle, and it's far to sweet a sound in such a terrible night.

“You don’t think we’ll wake again. Do you?” Ah,

“No. No I don't really. Though I might be okay with that this time.” We fall again into a comforting quiet, though this one is much shorter from the last. “But if I am wrong: and we do come back, then is it really so much to ask that we might die peacefully for once? oh! and by peaceful let it be known I do not mean in my sleep, on the very night we meet.” I finish with a huff. Chastising whatever higher power let something so cynical ever conspire. 

“That one was…” You go still at this, drawing yourself up straighter as you draw out your words. 

“Unfavourable.” 

“Terrible. You forget that I was the one to live through that Bilbo.” It’s almost comical, watching you slump inwards to yourself. Perhaps if the topic (and future for that matter.) wasn’t so bleak, it would be.

“You forget that I was the one to live through the first.” It’s a joke, but still you grow quiet at this, I can only hope that you’ve come to terms with all that happened in those days. Though even with all my wishing I don't suspect you have. “Still. There is something that feels dreadfully final about this one.”

“They always feel final to me. As if I had just thrown away the last chance I would ever get.”

“But then you wake.” I mumble. Half astonished, half always expecting you to think this way. The stubbornness of dwarves seems to suppress time and species alike. Only you Thorin could live as many lives as you have and expect it to just end for no good reason. The world ending with us however, seems a pretty good cause. 

Despite my best efforts to act as if the blistering heat doesn’t reach me, my fingers have begun to work my collar. Trying to get some air on my neck up, which is too slick with sweat to be any good. 

“But then I wake.” You agree, and you’re carding your fingers through my hair now. Which has too be soaked and sweetly with sweat. I can't find it in me and my Hobbity upbringing to care about whats proper and whats a tad unsettling at the moment. As long as you don’t seem to mind I suppose, and you don’t. Instead you run your fingers through it as if it's a hard won victory. it's a gentle and calming lull. Sometimes or anytime when time is actually on our side, I grow my hair long for you and your fancy beads. Even still you make them yourself when given the chance, and teach your nephews how. I might find that endearing. 

This was one of the few times we are together long enough to have both the beads and hair long enough to sport them. Though not much is shown for our efforts. My beads sit at the bed-side table back in our home, and my hair is braided into a band of yours. Save the loss of my beads, I may find this a tad endearing too. Maybe I’ve grown to like the fancy little braids, or at least what they mean.

“One would think you would have allowed yourself some hope. Over all those many years.” It's a sad sort of sentence. Breathed out and quiet. 

“I do have hope. Or at least, now.”

“Now? Honestly thorin! The world is coming to a close you know.” There isn’t much bite to my outbreak. I'm just to tired to really manage it. “I'm rather happy you’ve found a way to, honestly I am, but your timing really needs to improve. There really doesn’t seem much sense in looking to the future now.” 

“And yet I have hope.” Your watching me now, maybe a bit sadly. “There are… The shelters. And the possibility… That one day… This might-”

“And yet I do not.” I’ve nuzzled into you. (or perhaps slumped.)  There seems to be more to say, but you must come to a decision of some sort while watching me, and seem to shake your head of it. Which is odd, since we have never been the type let each other’s little interruptions keep us from saying what we need to. It must not have been important because moments later there is an arm around me. I am not sure I remember the movement that put it there, I can’t recall you ever moving it at all . But still it is a comfort and one I gladly take. Perhaps it’s terribly selfish of me to be relaxing in your arms. Because in one moment I am allowing heavy lids to droop closed and in the next I’m opening them up to your worried expression. I try to smile, to reassure you, though it’s to no avail. Either way you look so terribly sad that I feel the need to apologize. Even if I feel I should; I can’t warp my tongue around the words, or my head around the general basis of the apology. Perhaps later. Yes later is a good time. (It's always later isn’t it?) 

“And yet you do not.” Although we are the only ones for miles, It doesn't seem that the words are for me. Your fingers are in my hair again. And it's comforting, though maybe shaky. They had stilled for what could have been a moment, or what could have been an hour.  
I don’t think time matters when there is no one around any longer to witness it passing. So if my minutes seem to merge into what might be hours, it no longer really matters. you’ve made up something new to measure time by, and it’s much more lovely anyway. Instead I count how many times your fingers are able to card through my hair before I can open my eyes again. Each time they seem to grow heavier with the gentle caresses. Of course that could just be the heaviness in the air. For a writer I am so dreadfully bad at explaining this, and I can't seem to grasp why. After all I should be rather practiced in this part. 

“Get some rest.” you say from somewhere in that void of time lost, and soothing touches. It’s a wonderful idea. Perhaps the best you’ve ever had. Much better then going after that blasted dragon as we did. Though I can’t exactly fault you for that one. 

“You once said something dreadfully poetic… And I think it might, fit this situation handsomely. I'm sure you remember it, I’m sure it took no shortage of work to come up with.” This is a lie and we are both smiling at it. You can be poetic, in your own way. 

“If this is to end in fire?” 

“Mhmmmm...”

“Mhm.”

You might have kissed my forehead. I might have just whisked that up. I really don't know, but I am far too tired to ask.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear me- was all that said aloud?
> 
>  
> 
> the dialog isn't just that which is said between "-" some of the paragraphs are as well but it's meant to be vague as to what. 
> 
>  
> 
> your thoughts and opinions are always welcome


End file.
